


Queens of New York

by thebrightestbird



Series: Montreal [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: '80s references, Anal Sex, Band as Family, Blow Jobs, Closeted Character, Demisexual Brian May, Fluff, Food Kink, Gay Club, Humor, LOTS of Randomness, Lingerie, M/M, Mild to strong language, Mistaken Identity, New York City, Psychics, Rimming, Sex Toys, Tickling, Valentine's Day, commitment ceremony, smutty epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightestbird/pseuds/thebrightestbird
Summary: This sudden notion of going out into the city late in the night is so uncharacteristic of his boyfriend. Wanting to buy, of all things, lingerie for Brian? Refusing sex? And wanting to bring Roger and Freddie on top of it all?John's up to something. Brian can feel it.John convinces Brian to go out into New York City to buy him some lingerie for Valentine's Day. With Freddie and Roger along for the trip, the night takes some surprising twists and funny turns.
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May
Series: Montreal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581277
Comments: 43
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my quirkiest Queen story yet. Inspired somewhat by the movie _Before We Go_ and a little bit of _Sleepless in Seattle_ / _An Affair to Remember_.
> 
> Part of the [Montreal](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581277) series. I reference some things from the previous stories, but it's probably fine if you read this one alone. Basically, Brian and John are a new couple and disgustingly in love.
> 
> I use some real events, namedrop personalities, and mention moments in the band's history that don't fit in the early 1982 setting just to suit my crazy plot.
> 
> Lastly, I hope this can be a nice diversion from the current global troubles. Take care and please enjoy this silly story.

It was a favor for Jim Beach that had Queen back in the States so soon after their recent North America tour to perform as one of many big names at a charity music festival in New York City. Traveling across the pond for a half-hour performance seemed a bit much, but Jim insisted they'd regret not being there. 

("Do it, or I'll quit as your manager." 

"Miami, darling, you threaten that every week.") 

It was truly meant to be a short and sweet trip with a flight booked for home immediately following their performance. Unfortunately, a system of snowstorms currently sweeping across Europe delayed their flight until morning. 

The last-minute accommodations are still top notch, of course, and Brian and John make sure to take advantage of the giant bed.

"Brian ... Bri, it's too much," John moans. "God, please, B, can't take it anymore. It's absolute torture." 

"You can and will, love. I could do this all night and never get tired."

"Brian, seriously, I'm exhaust-, oh my God! Oh, fuck, let me catch my breath at least!" 

"You love it!" Brian squeals with delight as he runs his fingertips even more playfully across his boyfriend's ribs. "I can't believe I'm just discovering you're ticklish!"

John wheezes and laughs uncontrollably. "No, this is," he stops to take a breath, "absolutely an anomaly." More giggles. "I can't be the ticklish one in this relationship!"

Brian laughs obnoxiously over having this over John. He has mercy though and replaces his fingers' light touches with brushes of his lips. The more John catches his breath, the more the kisses affect him, and he moans again for other reasons. 

And then he squeezes his eyes shut and giggles again because, damn his body, he's still quite ticklish there. 

Brian smiles into John's skin, pleased he still has the man distracted, as he places a small box with a ribbon on his chest.

When John notices the kisses on his sides are no longer the ticklish kinds but gentle, sure pressure, he slowly opens his eyes and notices the gift. He looks down a bit cross-eyed at the object on his chest. "What's this now?" 

Brian works on a hickey to give himself some extra time to gather his courage. He hums as he sucks. 

"Brian," John chastises over the delayed answer. 

"Open it," Brian murmurs, not ready to fully detach from the mark he's formed. 

John pulls apart the bow and gently lifts the top to find a platinum ring on a chain. "Oh, B, this is gorgeous. What's the occasion?" 

Brian finally lifts his head up to look at John with an arched eyebrow. He checks the clock to see that it's a few minutes after midnight. "It's, well, Valentine's Day," he explains, then realizes he gave the gift without even saying the little speech he had prepared. "Um, happy Valentine's Day, Deacy. I love you." 

John waits for more to be said but poor Brian's tongue seems completely stricken. "I love you too," he starts. "Why are you so nervous? Did you think I'd reject your gift? That I don't love you? I thought we worked this out on New Year's." 

Brian shakes his head. "No, I don't doubt that anymore. If anything, it's because I'm so sure you love me that I bought the ring." 

Brian's still lying across John's stomach and settles down even more. John miraculously manages not to distract Brian from what he's trying to say by laughing at how the curls tickle.

Brian takes one of John's hands and plays with the fingers, focusing on them instead of John's face. "I was afraid the fact that it's a ring would scare you off." 

"And why would it do that?" 

"Because of what rings represent between people in love." Brian's playing with the ring finger of his left hand. 

"Brian, are you ask-" 

"No!" Brian stops the question in its tracks. "I, uh, no. That's ridiculous," he murmurs, still not looking John in the face. "It's too soon for us, of course. Only a few months of this," he waves his hand between them in explanation. "It's not like we could legally do it anyway," he says bitterly. "Which is why it's on a chain. It's, uh, well, a symbol," he kisses the knuckle of John's ring finger, "of how I don't plan to stop loving you anytime soon." 

John uses that same hand to cup Brian's face and moves it to the side so he's finally looking up toward him. He gives his boyfriend a blinding smile. Brian gives a blushing, shy one in return. 

"Well, I feel like a right prick for forgetting Valentine's Day after all that," John says. 

"No, it's fine. Valentine's is ridiculous most of the time." 

"Normally, I'd agree, but I've got you now," John strokes Brian's cheek. "I want to do something special for my Valentine." 

Brian blushes harder and clears his throat. "Ah, well, we are in this extravagant bed, and we are freshly showered." He starts to turn his face back into John's stomach. "You smell so good, John. Delicious," he begins to kiss again. 

John grits his teeth. "Brian, uh, I would love to, but I had another idea." 

Brian looks up at him in question. "A ... sexy idea?" 

John's mouth goes dry at Brian's eagerness, making him rethink his original plans briefly. He shakes off the thought and shoves forward. "Yes, however, we won't be having actual sex." 

Brian's face falls. 

"We can do that any time." 

"But it's Valentine's Day!" Brian pouts. 

"Yes, and I failed to get you a present." 

"Okay, I'm confused. You said you had a sexy idea. And you bring up getting me a present ... now?" He looks back at the clock as a reminder to John of the very late hour. 

"We're in New York, Brian. _The city that never sleeps_. I'm pretty sure I can get whatever I want for you here no matter the time." 

"And what do you want to get me?" 

John takes Brian's gift out of the box finally and places the chain around his neck, the ring laying on his bare chest close to his heart. They both look at it there for a moment. Then suddenly John urges Brian to get up and lie on top of him so they're face to face. 

Once he's settled, Brian goes back to gazing at the ring, fiddling with it. "You know, this doesn't convince me that we're not going to have sex," he smirks. 

John moves his hands down to Brian's pants, playing with the waistband. "We aren't. I just wanted to hold you close a little while before we get dressed and go." 

"Oh, so I'm to go out with you to find this gift?" 

"Yes, I'll need you there to ensure the right fit." 

Brian squints in confusion. "Right fit?" 

John snaps the waistband suddenly. 

"Oi!" Brian yelps. "What are you doing?" 

"I think you need new pants." 

Brian scoffs. "They're hardly my only pair, John. I didn't know you were so particular." 

John hums in thought. "I actually quite like to imagine you in various things. Pretty things." 

Brian's breath catches. "Really?" 

"Hmm, yeah, I think something dark to contrast against your pale skin. Something tight or a fancy cut." 

Brian finally catches on. "You want to buy me knickers?" 

"Not just knickers. A nice matching set. Whatever you'd fancy, really. As long as I get to peel it off of you," he winks. 

Brian ponders the possibilities. "I never actually thought of myself in lingerie." 

"No?" John runs his hands up and down Brian's back. "You'd look gorgeous. I can imagine you wearing something much like the elegant tunics you used to wear on stage. Just more see-through." 

"I do miss getting dressed up like that sometimes," Brian admits. "You'd like that?" 

"Brian, I'm the one bringing it up, unwilling to wait to see it, wanting to go right the fuck now into the wilds of New York City to find it." John gives a swift kiss to Brian's pursed lips. "You'd be fulfilling a fantasy." 

"Yeah?" Brian smirks. "All right, then. I mean, it's an excuse to get out into the city while we can." 

John nods his head in agreement. 

"But where would we even go to get lingerie at this time? Not to sound posh, but I want to go someplace with a nice selection." 

"We can't ask just anyone." John sighs, realizing what they'll have to do. "We'll have to go to the experts." 

Brian frowns, not understanding at first, then the light bulb in his head switches on too. "No! Oh, no, we're not telling them about this!" 

"Roger and especially Freddie know the city better than us," John reasons. 

"Roger will never let me live this down. You realize this, John?" 

"Sorry, Bri. Get dressed, yeah? We need him and Freddie on this." 

Brian rolls off John, unconvinced that they do need their bandmates, but he holds his tongue. This sudden notion of going out into the city late in the night is so uncharacteristic of his boyfriend. Wanting to buy, of all things, lingerie for Brian? Refusing sex? And wanting to bring Roger and Freddie on top of it all? 

John's up to something. Brian can feel it. 


	2. Chapter 2

After some intense knocking, Roger finally opens his room door. "What, wankers?" 

Neither John nor Brian are phased by the insult. 

"We're going out and you're coming with us," John explains, "but we need Freddie too." 

"He's not in his room," Brian adds. 

"Shouldn't you two be shagging as usual? Why do you need me? Where are we going?" 

"We're going to buy Brian lingerie," John plainly says, as if it was something the four of them commonly did together. 

Roger's eyes dart to Brian, who's blushing and currently fascinated by the ceiling. He looks at Deacy again, his face frustratingly unreadable. "Now? You want to buy lingerie now?" 

"It's Valentine's Day," John simply says, again, like there’s nothing unusual with any of this. 

"Barely," Roger retorts. "Why are you doing this now, John?" 

"Because we'll be leaving for the airport in the morning and will be stuck on an airplane for the rest of the holiday. I already screwed up by forgetting the day, and I want to make it up to Brian." 

Roger squints in study of their bass player. He's gone from unreadable to steadfast. Roger glances at Brian, who's making heart-eyes at John. Roger sighs in resignation. His night's just been hijacked by the couple. 

"One minute," Roger says and ducks back into his room. 

When the door opens again, a woman comes out with only one arm in her coat, seemingly delaying putting it completely on by slipping on her shoes while trying to make progress out of the door. 

"Oh, uh, hello," the woman awkwardly greets Brian and John. She almost stumbles as she gets her foot just right in the strappy pumps. "I'm a big fan. You put on a great show. I mean, I was mainly there for the Stones, but you guys were good too." 

John and Brian look at each other for any clue to a proper response. Before either say a thing, a man who isn't Roger surprises them by coming out of the room as well. 

"Babe, your purse," the man says to the woman, who takes the bag. "Can't believe he's kicking us out," he gripes. 

The woman shrugs and grabs his hand. "Maybe we can find Mick Jagger around here." The couple leave in the direction of the lifts. 

Roger comes back out of the hotel shrugging on a coat. He notices the look of disbelief on Brian and John's faces. "What?" 

Brian huffs, "Sorry to interrupt your night." 

Roger glances down the hall at the couple and shrugs. "Small sacrifice to be able to see you in some lace knickers." 

Brian groans and covers his face with his hands. 

"Right, well," John tries to protect his boyfriend's modesty and redirect Roger's focus, "do you know where Freddie is?" 

"At The Pump." 

"The petrol station?" Brian asks. "Freddie doesn't even drive." 

Roger laughs sharply. "No, you dope. It's a gay club a few blocks from here." 

|| 

The volume of music in The Pump rivals any of their shows. The number of bodies crammed in the place likely violates fire-safety codes. And Brian now knows where to go in New York if he's ever in the mood for fetish play. 

"How the hell are we going to find Freddie?" John asks Roger. 

"Just ask," Roger says and goes straight to one of the bartenders. "Mate, where's Freddie?" 

"Backrooms," the bartender says immediately without any need for more information. 

The bandmates share a look of recognition at what Freddie's likely up to there. 

"I volunteer Roger to go back there," John says. 

"What?! No way! This is your fault we're here in the first place, John. You go." 

"Freddie's like a brother. There's no way I'm risking seeing him that way," John insists. "And there's no way Brian's going back there. He'd actually die of embarrassment." 

Brian nods emphatically in agreement. 

Roger glares at John. "Damn it, fine! The shit I go through for this band, I swear," he mutters as he walks toward the back of the club. 

"Oh, thank God," Brian breathes out in relief. 

John grins wickedly. "So, you wouldn't be interested in some side action tonight?" 

Brian gives him the most unimpressed face. 

"Of course, I'd go back there with you. Don't get me wrong, Bri. I don't want to be the jealous boyfriend, but I feel responsible for making sure you're treated right." John moves into Brian's space as he says all this and reaches up to cup Brian's face. 

Brian flinches and looks around. "What are you doing?" 

"I was going to kiss you in a possessive and filthy way to dissuade you of even considering going to the backrooms." 

Brian scoffs, "You know I wouldn't." He gets close to his boyfriend's ear and plays with chain that holds his ring. "Only you, John." 

John smiles broadly and tries to kiss him again, but Brian ducks away. "Hey, it's okay, B. Look where we are." 

Brian blinks at their surroundings. He sees all the men dancing and laughing and kissing, and it's at that moment he realizes what such an environment could mean for John and him since they've kept their relationship quiet for the sake of maintaining privacy. British media can be cruel, and neither want any outside negativity tainting their newfound feelings for each other. It's an unacceptable situation, Brian knows it. He should be able to shout his love for John to the whole universe if he wanted to. 

For now, though, they can have this small moment of freedom. 

Brian leans forward to kiss his boyfriend without anymore hesitation, excited to openly express his passion, and — just to spite the people of the world who would judge him as wrong for snogging a man — he uses lots and lots of tongue. 

|| 

Roger stands out in front of the main entrance to the backrooms to try to wait out Freddie. It's a terrible plan since every man who walks from the threshold thinks Roger's looking to score. 

His impatience gets the better of him, and he grabs the attention of a bloke walking past. 

"Hey, do me a quick favor, and I'll give you 20 for your troubles." 

The man gives him a once-over and stares at the bill in Roger's hand. "You're hot and all, but I'm no pro. And if I was, I'd charge more than 20 bucks." 

Roger groans. "That's not what I'm asking for. I need you to go back there and find my friend for me." 

"You can't do that yourself?" 

"I could, but I'd rather someone do it for me." Roger doesn't feel the need to explain his reasons. 

The man huffs, assuming the reason anyway. "A shame. Would've blown you for free." 

Roger waves the money in the man's face, ignoring the comment. "His name's Freddie. My height, dark hair, has a mustache." 

"Oh, yeah,” the man scoffs. “That narrows down the possibilities." He takes the money and walks through the poorly lit entrance. 

A few minutes later, a disheveled Freddie comes out looking quite perturbed. "So, Rog. Strangest thing happened. I manage to find a nicely endowed gentleman, and as we're in a very compromising position, somebody shouts, 'There's a blond twink who sounds like he stepped out of _Mary Poppins_ looking for a guy named Freddie.' " 

Roger scoffs at being called a twink. 

Freddie smirks momentarily before scowling. "What the hell could possibly be so important? There better be a fire or dead body, Roger, because nothing else will keep me from going back in there and finding Mr. Big once more." 

"John and Brian are here with me," Roger simply replies. 

Freddie blinks and looks around for their bandmates. He spots them dancing, smiling widely and hugging each other tightly. "They're adorable, and I am truly happy they are finally allowing themselves some time to enjoy each other out in the open, but-" 

"We're going lingerie shopping for Brian." 

Freddie's jaw drops. He looks back at the couple. "Now?" 

Roger nods. 

Freddie huffs and crosses his arms, seemingly petulant about the ordeal. 

Roger knows better and simply smirks. 

"Well, Brian would look lovely in something white and frilly," Freddie muses. "But, really, now? I mean, Rog, you should have _seen_ him. Hung like a stallion." 

Roger rolls his eyes. "Freddie, come on. There will be others just as big or bigger. This is for John and Brian — and, honestly, for me as well." 

Freddie looks questioningly. 

Roger frowns. "I miss you, Fred. You go off on your own more often than not, and I can't recall the last time you and I did anything together outside the band." 

Freddie pulls his lips in and casts his eyes down. 

"We used to be inseparable,” Roger continues. “And don't get me wrong, Fred, I don't expect us to go back to living in each other's pockets, but I never imagined we'd stray so far from each other's lives like we have," Roger's mouth twitches with some mischief, "especially with finding fun and getting up to no good." 

Freddie looks back up with a small, closed-mouth smile. 

"Come on, Freddie. Let's find some trouble tonight." Roger nods his head in the direction of Brian and John. "And let's drag those do-gooders down with us." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans begin. Plus, the fakest New York City setting since _Friends_.

They stop first at a nearby pizza parlor for a quieter place to discuss where they'll go tonight and because Roger's fucking hungry for real New York pizza.

"So, lingerie?" Freddie prompts. "Might I ask if this is a new form of undergarment we're trying out on Brian or have you been hiding this special interest from me as well, darling?"

Brian knows Freddie's still annoyed by his lack of disclosure over his less-than-straight sexuality. "This is new, Fred. It's more Deacy's interest, actually," he deflects the attention.

Roger and Freddie naturally look to their bassist, who just rolls his eyes. "It's my interest to see him wearing some, he conveniently leaves out," John says.

"Oh, come now, John," Roger says around a mouthful of cheesy goodness, "a bum like yours is made for nothing less than satin knickers."

Freddie and Brian nod wholeheartedly in agreement.

"Yes, um," John blushes, "perhaps another time. This is for Brian." He clasps their hands together under the table, making Brian automatically smile.

Freddie sighs over the romantic gesture. Roger pretends to gag on his pizza slice.

"I know the perfect boutique to find whatever you'd like," Freddie says. "It also has some nice, uh, toys and accessories if you're interested in some playthings to go along with your new ensemble."

"Oh, good, I could use a new riding crop," Roger says.

They all look questioningly at Roger.

"What? It's for Dom," he says, which piques their collectively curiosity further.

"So, not just a nickname for her?" Freddie muses. "More of a role, is that right?"

Roger smiles serenely in answer.

A couple of men come up to them from behind the counter. One of them took their order, while the other was working the pizza oven. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need you to settle something."

"What can we do?" Brian asks.

"We know there was some big concert tonight, and Sal thinks you're Led Zeppelin." The man next to him, Sal apparently, nods.

The bandmates look at each other and sigh in unison. They've had to contend with being compared with Led Zeppelin their entire careers. Although mistaken identity is rare, it's not unheard of, especially outside England.

"Uh," Roger hesitates, "sorry, fellas. We're not Led Zeppelin."

"See, Sal, I told you! Not every group with an English accent is Led fucking Zeppelin."

Sal mutters, clearly disappointed.

"I'm real sorry about that," Rich (according to his nametag) says. "I tried to tell him who you really are, but he wouldn't listen."

They all nod politely, ready to easily shake off the mistake.

"I'm a big fan," Rich says, looking more at Roger this time. "I gotta say, your voice is amazing."

Roger perks up at that. Usually, his drumming gets pointed out first before people throw in a side compliment for his vocal range. "Thanks, mate. Appreciate it."

"You bet, Mr. Sting. I mean, I lost my virginity to 'Every Breath You Take.' You're that good."

Brian can't hold back a surprised snort. "Ahem," he clears his throat, "um, sorry."

Roger's jaw drops. "Uh-"

"Here," Rich interrupts, "have some extra bread sticks in thanks."

John happily takes a stick from the basket.

"Glad we could help," Roger says, not wanting to disappoint the young man by correcting him despite how annoyed he is for being mistaken for The Police frontman. "Hey, yeah, we should be going though."

"But we just got fresh bread sticks, darling," Freddie teases.

"Yeah, don't be such a downer, Sting," John says, working on his second stick.

Brian doesn't even try to hold back his laughter then.

Roger glares as all the bandmates have a laugh at the amusing situation.

Rich and Sal can't figure out what's so funny.

||

They take a bus to the boutique. On the way, Brian and John have their nightly round of bickering.

"I don't want it," John insists.

Brian clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from grinding. "All right, if there's no guitar for the song's bridge, what will replace it?"

"The synthesizer," John simply answers.

Brian's eyes bug out.

Meanwhile, Roger and Freddie have a cordial chat.

"Can you believe my goddamn neighbors think they have the right to tell me what I can display at the entrance of my own fucking house?" Roger laments.

Freddie hums sympathetically. "They're magnificent stone statues of lions. I mean, they're beautiful big cats. What's not to like?"

"Right?!" Roger exclaims. "But those blowhard councillors rejected them. No taste, I swear."

Brian takes in a calming breath. "Don't get me wrong, John. I've obviously softened my view on the synthesizer. There would be no _Flash Gordon_ album without it. But nothing beats using our instruments for songs that have nothing to do with a campy science-fiction film."

"Are you saying you hate _Flash_?" John counters. "Because, if I remember correctly, you practically wrote half that album, and no one was holding a gun to your head to use synths."

"You're really going to obey the council's ruling?" Freddie wonders.

"Of course not," Roger scoffs. "Although, I think I want to do one better to spite those shitheads."

Freddie thinks on it. "You could find something else to put there. Like something legitimately awful to fuck with them."

Roger's eyes light up at the thought.

"You know damn well I used plenty of our instruments on those tracks along with the synth!" Brian takes a deep breath to calmly follow up. "Your bass was quite a prominent part of 'Flash's Theme.' Are you saying, John, that it would have been better if it had been all synthesizer?"

John scowls at the decent point Brian makes. Brian smugly crosses his arms.

The only other passengers on the bus are a young couple who seem to take the lull in conversation as an opportunity to approach the four bandmates, primarily focusing on Brian.

"We're sorry to bother you," the woman begins to speak, "but we couldn't miss this opportunity to meet you."

The man nods in agreement. "We're such big fans."

"Um, thank you," Brian responds, sensing how their eyes are glued to him and not the others.

"You absolutely shred a guitar," the man continues. "You're completely unrivaled."

"The greatest rock guitarist ever," the woman adds, nodding energetically.

Brian can't help but grin openly in John's direction, the smugness so powerful John worries he'll strain his own eyeballs from rolling them so hard in response.

"That's so kind of you two," Brian says in that tender way of his. "It's always nice to hear your work is appreciated." He glances at John again.

"Could we get your autograph?" the woman asks.

"Sure, yeah," Brian agrees easily. They hand him a diary open to a random blank page. "Would you like it to say anything special?"

"Oh! How about, 'To Todd and Joanne, Always get 'Back in the Saddle'? " the man (Todd, apparently) requests.

The wide grin on Brian's face falls immediately. Freddie breathes out a disbelieving, "Oh, my gawwwd." Roger grimaces and mouths, "Fucking _Aerosmith_?"

Luckily, the bus slows to a stop at that moment and distracts the couple from the awkwardness.

Brian quickly scribbles on the paper and gets up. "Terribly sorry, but this is our stop." He shoves the book and pen back to the couple and escapes out the exit.

The other bandmates quickly get up to follow, John being last.

Joanne looks at the paper. "Hey, this doesn't look like it says Joe Perry."

"It doesn't," John responds before exiting, "but you still got the signature of a true guitar great."

Todd studies the signature. "Brian May?" The couple sharply look up from the paper as the bus doors close. "Oh, _fuck_ , it's Queen!"

All four band members wave goodbye to the shocked couple as the bus pulls away.

John swings his jacket over his shoulder as he turns to Brian. " _All right_ , I'll consider letting you have a solo on 'Back Chat'."

Brian huffs at his boyfriend's concession. "You're too kind," he responds, dryly.

Before he can say more, someone runs past and swipes John's jacket.

"What the fuck!" John exclaims and immediately takes chase. The bassist luckily runs regularly and manages to quickly catch up to the thief, unlike the rest of them who fight various cramps while jogging to try to keep up.

When John is within reach, he wrestles the man to the ground. The thief wiggles his way out of John's grasp, still with the jacket, but before John can grab for him, the thief tries to make a bargain.

"HOLD ON! WAIT!" the thief screams. "I'll give you back the jacket!"

"You're fucking right, you will!" John shrieks.

"IF, _if_ ," the thief emphasizes, "you sing 'Wheel in the Sky'."

Roger, Freddie, and Brian have caught up to them by now. John looks back at his bandmates with confusion, an expression they're all sharing.

"Why would you want us to sing that?" Roger asks.

"Because you're Journey?" the thief explains, like it's obvious.

Freddie's outraged. "We're not bloody Jour-"

"Please, _Steve_ ," John begs, "just sing it for him."

Freddie's outrage ramps up a notch at being called by the Journey frontman's name. "You can get another coat, John!"

John's eyes are pleading and he goes to whisper in Freddie's ear. Freddie side-eyes the thief and sighs at whatever John's telling him, then purses his lips as if to prepare his tongue for what it is going to have to sing.

"You owe me, Deacy. All right, I'll sing," Freddie says to the thief. "But you're getting 'Open Arms' instead, and nothing more."

The thief nods enthusiastically in agreement.

Once Freddie's finished the ballad, the thief is in tears and holds out the jacket for John to practically slap out of his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Perry. That was beautiful."

"Whatever," Freddie eloquently responds, perturbed not by the song, which is lovely, but by having to pretend to be another person.

"I gotta go find a phone and call my old lady." The thief finally runs off to their collective relief.

Brian checks on John. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

John shakes off the concern. "Just some scrapes on my arms. Nothing serious."

Brian wants to check but John puts his jacket on before he can look. "Deacy, why is that coat so important to you?" he asks.

"Um, my wallet's in it."

Brian looks at him critically. "No, your wallet's in your back pocket."

John gropes the backs of his jeans and pulls out the worn billfold. "Oh, huh, my mistake," he shrugs and clears his throat. He tucks his wallet back into his back pocket. "Uh, Freddie, where's this shop of yours?"

"We've run a bit off course," Freddie sighs. "We'll have to backtrack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My twist on Back Chat "drama" lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter with a cranky psychic.

They follow the lead singer in the direction of the bus stop. It's a quiet walk until something zips across their path and over the street. 

"Oh, Jesus, what the fuck?!" Roger exclaims. 

"Relax, it's just a stray cat, darling." 

They spot the feline perched on a window sill where a neon sign glows starkly in the darkness. 

"24-Hour Psychic," Brian reads. 

The cat seems to meow in agreement that, yes, that's what the sign says. 

"Come on, let's get going," Roger urges. 

The cat hisses. 

Roger scowls. "Rude," he mutters. 

"This may be my love of cats talking," Freddie starts, "but she seems to want us to go over there." 

The cat frighteningly meows some more and raises a paw. 

They all look at one another, sharing their bewilderment and slight queasiness. 

"Sooo, I guess we're seeing a psychic now," Freddie concludes. 

They all reluctantly nod and cross the street. 

The actual entrance is down a few steps to a basement floor entrance. John takes the initiative to knock. After a minute, he tries again. 

"This is ridiculous," Brian says. "Let's just go." 

A meow comes from behind and they all jump at the noise. The cat, of course, followed them down the steps. 

They jump again when the door unlocks and is pulled open. 

"What the fuck do you want?" a small woman in a tank top and oversized pajama bottoms asks. 

The blunt non-greeting quiets any greeting from them. 

Eventually, Freddie clears his throat. "Uhhh," he hesitates, "are you the psychic?" 

"Yeah." 

"The ... 24-Hour Psychic?" John asks. 

The woman groans. "It's just a name." 

"What?" Roger's indignant. "You can't call yourself the 24-Hour Psychic and not actually operate 24 hours a day." 

"In my defense, it just says 24 hours. I don't specify that it's a day's worth of hours. What if I only work 24 hours a week? Anyway, what's it to you? What are you, president of psychics?" 

"It's false advertising!" 

The woman sneers. "That's rich coming from a group called _Queen_. You telling me you're all royalty? Shall I bow, your majesties?" 

The bandmates collectively gasp. 

"Y-you know who we are?" Brian asks. 

The woman huffs. "Well, yeah. I'm psychic." 

They all squint at her in obvious doubt. 

"And I own your greatest hits record," she admits. "You look just like the picture." 

That makes more sense. They all murmur their acceptance of the answer. 

"The fact that you already have a greatest hits record is ridiculous though. You're going to be making a shit-ton of successful music to come." 

"Oh, I suppose that's your professional psychic opinion?" John asks, incredulous. 

"Yes, it is," she sharply responds. 

The bandmates are stunned into silence again. 

The psychic blearily gazes back for a minute before her patience snaps. "Fine, okay, let's do this. But you're not coming inside. This is going to be short and sweet. No cards, just palms." 

"How much?" Roger asks. 

"Usually, 25 dollars a person, but since you're rich, it's 50." 

"You're joking?!" Brian exclaims. "For a fraudulent, sham of a service?" 

The psychic rolls her eyes. "Oh, is the scientist discrediting my profession? You know astronomy is just astrology made boring." 

Brian's jaw drops over the insult. 

"I've got news for you," she continues, ignoring his outrage. "It's the same sky. The same set of stars. Your way of studying them is no better than mine." 

"Oh, come on-" 

" _In fact_ , we're quite alike in many ways." 

"Enlighten me, please," Brian says, drolly. 

"You talk to the moon like she's actually listening." 

Brian sucks in a breath. "Wha-, uh, that's not-" 

"It's okay, Bri," John interrupts his stuttering. "We know." 

Freddie and Roger nod. 

"Oh," Brian casts his eyes down and bites his lip. His brows crinkle with worry. He swallows and finally looks back to the psychic. "Is she really not listening?" he asks, meekly. 

"Oh, honey," the psychic smiles sweetly. "Of course, she listens." 

Brian smiles with relief, then self-consciously dims it when he realizes the others are watching him intently. "Um, good to know." He unceremoniously shoves his palm at her. 

The psychic looks down and gets to work. "Well, everything's long about you, so it's no surprise your hands are that way, meaning you're a sensitive one. Your head line is out of control; good grief, you're smart," she mutters in wonder. Brian shrugs, bashful. "Your intelligence gives you endurance and is a reliable source of confidence. But you love quite deeply too. It's cliché, but that'll be your greatest strength and weakness. The thing about love, though, it's what pulls us through the toughest of times. Trust that in the times you get low, because you're obviously very loved." She gestures to his bandmates. 

Brian releases a long breath, some of the tension he always carries leaving him. 

"That'll be 50 bucks," the psychic says with a wink. 

The guitarist huffs and digs out the money. 

"Who's next?" the psychic asks. "You know what? Nevermind, I choose Blondie." 

"Uh, okay, sure," Roger stutters out and reluctantly shows her his palm. 

The psychic takes the hand and hums thoughtfully. "It's these areas right below your fingers that are most telling for you." She skims a fingertip across the area as illustration. "You're a highly adaptable, resilient fella, qualities that come in handy for your level of ambition and drive. And your sun line and fate line aren't close at all." 

"What does that mean?" Roger asks, curiosity taking over. 

"You are the maker of your success. Fate doesn't mean good things. Fate just means you're meant to face certain things. You seem to be uniquely built to soundly overcome the bad things. Don't get me wrong, I don't know what your future fuck-ups will be, but be assured that you have the personal fortitude to conquer them, better yourself, and generate your own good fortune." 

"Well, fuck me," Roger says in awe, "I needed that." He gladly pulls out the money without even needing to be prompted. 

"Oh, me!" Freddie jumps. "Me next, darling!" 

The psychic takes his hand with a smile on her lips, amused by the enthusiasm. The smile dims a bit when she starts to study the palm. She lightly brushes a particular line before shaking off whatever had her preoccupied and moving on to catalog other features. After taking a deep breath, she finally looks up at Freddie. "You have the hand of a born lover." 

"Well, I could have told you that," Freddie says with a wink. 

"Yes, I'm sure you're quite adept at the physical aspects of love," the psychic indulges the boast. "But I think you know what I really mean. Every part of your hand that is telling about one's ability to love, one's desire for love, and one's destiny on the matter ... they're all very prominent features of your hand." 

Freddie pulls in his lips and looks at his hand seriously. "Sure, who doesn't want some romance in their life? Wanting and getting are very different things though," Freddie's voice goes flat, as if he strips it of its usual musical lilts when he speaks of somber topics. 

"But what did I say before? You're a born lover. Wanting and getting are very much the same in your case. Because the universe would never deny someone so destined for love. I mean, it's one thing for the universe to deny someone the car they want or job they want. But to deny love to a person born for it? No, the universe doesn't work that way. Trust me, it'd be utter chaos." Freddie gives her a small, closed-mouthed smile. "He's out there waiting for you." 

Freddie's stuck in a reverie over the words. His eyes are misty, but his face glows. 

"Here," John notices the state Freddie's in and hands the psychic a hundred-dollar bill, "I'll just pay for him and prepay for my reading." 

The psychic takes the money and turns her attention to John. He offers his hand without fuss, although he's only indulging them all. He's probably the least intrigued by the nonsense. 

"Oh, you're the easiest to read." 

"Really?" John asks, dry as the desert. 

"You have realized your destiny, both professionally and romantically. And both will only get stronger over the next several years. You've finally proven to yourself that you're meant for success, and since you've sorted that out, you're ready to move on to dealing with matters of the heart. You've found love, and you plan on keeping it forever." 

Brian's ears perk at the mention of John's "found love." "You got all that from his palm?" he asks. 

The psychic looks pointedly at John's jacket pocket. John nervously swallows. "Right, yeah. Of course, I did. See for yourself." She offers John's hand to Brian, who grabs it to inspect. 

"Tell me where you see all that stuff about love and keeping it forever," Brian insists. John snatches his hand away and snorts at his boyfriend's need to know everything. 

"Normally, I'd love to explain, but I'm going back to bed. Thanks for the business, gentlemen. And thank you for the entirety of _Queen II_ and most of _A Day at the Races_." 

The bandmates huff at her parting words. Freddie gives the psychic a grateful hug, and they all say thank you and goodbye. 

The psychic watches them walk away for as long as she can until they turn a corner. The cat joins her then. "Good girl, always finding me the best clients. You're getting the gourmet cat food this morning." 

The cat meows in acknowledgment and proudly walks with her back inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about palm reading came from a magazine article.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian finally gets his lingerie. His bandmates don't make it easy for him though.

" _Ye Olde Sex Shoppe_ ," John reads the lighted sign above a window filled with items that are completely appropriate for a store with such a name. "This ... boutique has a selection of lingerie?" 

Freddie nods and points to a negligee in the window. "Look, wouldn't Brian look lovely in that?" 

John looks at the gauzy number and, okay, that's not bad. Of course, he thinks Brian would look great in a burlap sack, so he's biased. 

"But the _name_ , Fred," Brian groans. 

"Come on, Bri," Roger says. "The sign's written in chancery type. That means class." 

Freddie rolls his eyes. "You lot will see. Come on." 

A couple of cheap golden bells clink as they open and shut the door. "Welcome," a person at the counter automatically sings out. 

"Scarlet, darling, don't you remember me?" 

Scarlet squints. "Tony Orlando?" 

Freddie scoffs. 

Scarlet grins with mischief. "Hi, Freddie. It's been a long time." She comes from around the counter to kiss the singer on the cheek. "Love the mustache. Suits you." 

"These are my boys," Freddie introduces his bandmates. "The tall, curly one's in the market for some lingerie." 

Brian, predictably, turns beet red and looks away — unfortunately, toward the wall of dildos. He quickly looks somewhere else. 

Scarlet gives Brian the once-over. "Oh, I'd absolutely love to doll up this one. However, he looks like steam is about to erupt from his ears from embarrassment, poor thing. So, I'll leave you all alone. Let me know if you need me though, sweetie." 

Freddie waves and they make their way to the lingerie area. There are tables of knickers in every color and pattern and mannequins dressed in every fathomable form of intimate attire. 

Brian's overwhelmed. "Freddie, help," he begs. 

"Darling, just breathe. Scan over the merchandise. In fact, we'll all pick out a little something for you to try, all right?" 

Brian picks up something that appears to be nothing but strings and holds it away like it'll bite. "Uh, okay." 

As each of them make their selection, they're handed off to Brian. He hugs the garments like they're his guitar. "All right, I'll try these on." 

John, Roger, and Freddie try to follow him behind the curtain. 

"What are you all doing?" Brian asks. 

"We have to let you know if they work on you,” Freddie explains. 

"Umm, no," Brian promptly rejects. 

"Oh, come on, Bri," Roger says. "You have the fashion sense of a pensioner." 

John moves next to Brian. "You heard him. You two will just have to sit on the stools and wait." He starts to duck behind the curtain when Brian stops him. 

"No, you don't, mister. You will be joining them out here," Brian says. 

John's confused. "But this is my gift to you." 

"And I thank you for the thoughtfulness, but since I'll be making the choice of gift, I won't be needing your assistance." 

"But I'm your _boyfriend_ ," John whines. 

Brian huffs at the adorable petulance. He leans close to speak in John's ear. "Imagine it though, how nice of a surprise you'll get when you see me wearing my selections privately," Brian reasons. 

"I suppose," John groans. Still pouting, he walks to one of stools and plops down, arms crossed. Freddie and Roger join him on each side. 

Once Brian's behind the curtain, the three mates try to piece together Brian's current state of dress simply from the auditory information of rustling and Brian's quiet hums. 

Roger can't take it. "You gotta give us something, Brian!" 

"Yes, darling, just tell us what pieces you're trying, at least." 

"Okay, yeah," Brian says, voice strangely strained, "uh, I'm trying on the black corset." 

"Oh, I bet you look lovely," Freddie says. 

"I, uh, can't be sure. I think, maybe, I've got it on backwards. Or it's too tight. Is this belt thing supposed to go here? Oh, wait, yeah. I definitely have it on backwards ... and inside-out." 

Roger rolls his eyes. "You sure you don't need one of us in there to make sure you don't accidentally suffocate yourself?" 

"I think I've got it." Brian lets out another strained noise. "Aha! Got it off. It had a zipper the entire time." 

Freddie tilts his head in wonder over their guitarist's baffling ineptness with intimate apparel. "Brian, seriously, we should be in there." 

"No, Fred, I'm fine. I didn't very much like that one anyway." 

More rustling can be heard. A body part occasionally forces the curtain to flap out unexpectedly. 

"So, okay, I've got the satin bodysuit on." 

"It's a winner, right?" Roger asks. "That's my pick." 

"Ugh, I think it's on backwards too." 

The three men throw their arms up in dismay. 

"No, wait, it's fine. But what the hell are all these rings about? Is my cock supposed to go through one of them?" 

John perks up immediately. 

"No! Actually, well," Roger pauses to consider, "I guess you could. Mostly, they're for aesthetics and for your partner to loop their fingers through to maneuver you whichever way." 

John's imagination is running wild. 

"I don't think it's for me, Rog." 

John scowls and deflates again. 

"All right, I'm trying on the burgundy teddy next," Brian announces. 

"Yes, excellent," John says, "that's my choice." 

After a minute, they can hear a long groan come from behind the curtain. 

"John, really?!" 

"What's the matter?" 

"It's not just skimpy. It's like there's ... negative material here. There's nothing. I might as well tape together some red stockings and squeeze into that." 

"You're exaggerating," John insists. "If you let me see you in it, then-" 

"Nice try, but no," Brian interrupts. "It's not leaving the store with us." 

"I'll let you have the guitar solo in 'Back Chat'!" John finishes in a rush. 

Roger and Freddie gasp at the concession. 

Brian's curly head pops through the red curtain. "You're serious?" 

"Yes," John lets out a deep breath, "if I can see you in the teddy, you can have your stupid solo." 

They silently stare at one another for a few beats. It's vanity versus horniness, and Roger and Freddie have no idea which will win. 

"Damn it, fine," Brian blinks first, "but when you see how ridiculous I look, you can't take back the solo." 

"Deal," John quickly responds. 

Brian's head disappears, and he hides behind the curtain as he opens it. John practically leaps through. 

The hysterical laughter is instantaneous. " _Oh, my God!!!_ " Roger and Freddie can hear John exclaim. 

"I told you!" Brian shoots back. 

"No, you did not tell me about this. You tricked me!" 

"You can't take back the solo!" 

"Fine, I won't, but Fred and Rog are seeing this." 

John pulls back the curtain suddenly to reveal Brian in the burgundy teddy. 

A burgundy teddy worn over his plain-white boxers. 

Freddie and Roger are stunned — and then the laughter begins. 

"What the _fuck_ , Brian?!" Roger wheezes. 

"Oh, don't tease," Freddie says, despite still fully laughing. "Modesty can be sexy." 

Brian keeps his legs together primly and crosses his arms over his bare chest. (At least he took his shirt off to try on the items.) He looks upward to silently beg the heavens to smite his bandmates. "You can't try these things on bare-arsed, you pricks!" 

Brian shoves his giggling boyfriend out of the dressing room so hard, John falls at Roger and Freddie's feet. He quickly shuts the curtain without remorse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how Brian got his solo in 'Back Chat.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real Valentine's Day gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for fluff.

As punishment, Brian kicked his friends out of the store while he made his purchases. 

When Brian comes out, he can't help but notice how John doesn't acknowledge his appearance. Instead, he's wistfully looking skyward at the looming Empire State Building. "You want to go up there, John?" 

"Would be a grand sight," John muses. "They'd have closed the roof at this time though." 

"Pssh," Freddie dismisses. "Have you forgotten we're rich, darling?" 

Roger nods. "Shouldn't be any trouble to slip cash to the security guards. Let's go." 

Brian and John look at each other and shrug, following Roger and Freddie into the building. 

The front desk has two guards on duty. Freddie and Roger approach wearing their most charming smiles, ready to negotiate their entrance to the top of the building. 

"Hello, gentlemen," Freddie starts. "How are you this fine evening, or shall I say early morning? Oh, my, look at the time," he fakes surprise, going for a flighty, innocent aura. 

"We hate to be a bother," Roger takes over, "but we won't have much more time in the city due to an early flight, and it would be a dream come true if we could see the city at the top of the Empire State Building before we go." 

"We know it's closed at this time," Freddie speaks again, "but we swear we won't be too long and are open to some financial compensation for your troubles." 

The guards say nothing and simply stare at Freddie and Roger for a very long, uncomfortable minute. They do eventually look at each other, conveying a mutual disbelief over the situation. 

When they look back, Freddie and Roger still have those same smiles locked in place, both pros at getting whatever they want through shows of unwavering overconfidence. 

"Carla's never going to believe this," one of the guards finally speaks. "She's gonna be absolutely devastated she missed out." 

"Yeah, Dana's gonna freak the fuck out too," the other guard adds. "I mean, _I'm_ freaking the fuck out that it's really them." 

Now, before this night, the four musicians would have assumed they were being properly recognized and adored for being members of Queen, which by most standards is a very successful and popular band. 

They know better now. 

"Yes, it is," Roger pauses to get just the right ambiguous wording, "it's ... us." 

Freddie plays along. "We being ... who we are," he also pauses to wrap his head around the fact that he has no clue who these men think they are, "would very much appreciate you two doing ... us this favor." 

"Fuck, yeah, you can go up there, Mr. Oates." 

Brian and John gasp at the name. Roger looks critically at Freddie, and especially at his mustache, quickly working out the reason for the mistaken identity. And if they think Freddie is John Oates, that must mean they think Roger is ... 

"Mr. Hall, you're on my wife's 'Celebrities Who Can Get It' list, so don't take offense if I'm a little relieved it's me you're meeting instead of her," the guard says good-naturedly. 

Roger's at a complete loss for words. 

"Come on, _Daryl_ ," Brian says the name a little too gleefully, "don't be rude." 

"Yeah, _Daryl_ ," Deacy joins in, "you and _John_ promised us a look from the top. We don't want to waste any more of the guards' time." 

Roger gives them both his deadliest glare. "Ahem," he clears his throat, "well, let her know-, uh, Carla, was it?" 

The guard nods. 

"Okay, let Carla know that I'm flattered. Also let her know that I said she's a lucky lady to have such a good man who's willing to help us out." 

"Definitely, definitely," the guard agrees, "I can't wait to tell her about this. I'll be her favorite person again." 

"Me too! Dana's been so sore with me lately," the other guard says. "But you know what else is really gonna make her day?" he asks, directing the question toward Freddie and Roger. 

"What's that?" Freddie asks, dryly, not bothering to fake a caring tone. 

The guards hold out their hands. "New shoes," both respond in unison. 

Freddie and Roger look at each other and shrug. Bribery was fully expected and the two actually feel a sense of relief that it's come to that and not the fact that they are being mistaken for Hall & Oates that really will get them to the top of the Empire State Building. 

Each of them gladly pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and places the money in the guards' awaiting hands. 

|| 

The four bandmates have never been at the top of the building at night, and it's a gorgeous sight to behold above and below. With maybe a couple hours to go before dawn, the light from the city is at its dimmest but still faintly outlines the city blocks, while the stars and moon almost seem touchable at the height. 

Brian's mesmerized by the sight. He breathes in the cold air, makes sure he whispers his worries to the moon, and adds a prayer for some greater peace to take hold of the world. 

He looks to his left to check on his mates and finds John staring at him. "Shouldn't you be looking up or down? You were the one who wanted to see the grand sight." 

"I'm looking at it," John coyly replies. 

"Oh, please," Brian dismisses. "You got me the lingerie. Your Valentine's duty is done. You don't have to sweet talk me." 

"Oh, good, so you never suspected." 

Brian blinks, confused. "Suspected what?" 

"My real motives for taking you out tonight." 

Before Brian can ask what he means by that, John moves closer to him and pulls a small box from his jacket pocket. "Happy Valentine's Day, Brian." 

Brian's eyes widen, the moonlight making them sparkle. He slowly takes the offered box, opening to find a thick platinum and gold band. 

"I never forgot the holiday,” John says. “Of course, I didn't." 

"But why not give this to me earlier? Why, uh, oh," Brian remembers where they are and understands the answer. "You planned this? To give this here?" He suddenly also remembers their two friends who are here with them. "And you two knew about it!" 

Freddie and Roger have been staring at the pair the entire time, grinning at the scene. 

"Buying you lingerie was the code language," Roger explains. "Although, I didn't think John would actually do this tonight." 

"Yes, it was honestly a surprise when you all showed at the club," Freddie says. 

Brian squeezes his eyes shut to piece together everything. When he opens them, he notices that John's nervous. "You gave me a ring and you made sure our best mates were here when you did it." 

John nods in response. "It's not a proposal though." 

Brian frowns, looking at the ring with puzzlement, then the box is taken from his hand. He looks back up to see that John's kind eyes are utterly besotted with him. He hopes his eyes can match the intensity because his heart soars with love for John. 

John clears his throat. "This is my real gift to you this Valentine's Day, Brian." He takes the ring out of the box. "We can't get married for real, but that won't stop me from vowing to you, in front of our best friends and under the stars you love, that I will love and cherish you for the rest of my life." He breathes deep. "I'd be honored if you'd wear this ring — a symbol of my commitment to you. I love you, Brian." 

Brian can vaguely hear sniffles coming from Freddie and Roger through the rush of blood in his head. His limbs feel heavy, and he panics for a moment that this is all a dream. He fights the feeling and forces his hand up for John to place the ring on his finger. If he does wake to find the ring not there, he is going to be so pissed off. 

"Uh, Bri, you got anything to say back or are you just going to leave our Deacy hanging?" 

John and Freddie both hiss at Roger to shut up. "Don't pressure him, Rog," Freddie hushes. 

Roger ignores their babying, knowing that Brian just needs a little push whenever he's particularly overwhelmed. "Come on, Brian," he snaps his fingers. "Your man's waiting." 

And Brian actually does blink out of his fog at that. He looks at the ring on his finger and remembers the ring he gave John on the chain — and he rips the ring from John's neck. 

"Oi! What the hell?!" John exclaims. 

"What?" Brian innocently responds. "It's my turn." 

John rolls his eyes but stays quiet to let Brian speak. 

"So, um, I first gave you this ring on a chain because I'm a coward." John opens his mouth to protest but Brian shakes his head to quiet him. "I let my pragmatic voice win. The one telling me that it's way too soon to declare what I really felt. When we first started-" 

"Fucking," Roger helpfully supplies. 

"Yes," Brian sighs, "thank you, Rog." Freddie and John snicker. "Anyway, when it all started, I told you that I wasn't quite sure about my sexuality. And to a degree, after a few months together, that's still true. I think, for me, it depends on how I like the person, how I feel about them. I've known you for more than ten years. We've not always got on, but we've always had each other's backs. You've always been important to me. And becoming the object of your affection has made me realize that it's about feeling a certain connection. I've fancied a handful of people in limited ways. But you, John, well, I've never loved anyone like I love you." John gives a wide, happy grin. "I'm yours, Deacy, for as long as you'll have me." 

John readily has his hand out for Brian to place the ring on his finger — where it belonged all along. They give each other big, goofy, relieved smiles for a long moment, each not quite believing what just happened. 

"Well, are you going to kiss?" Freddie breaks the silence. John huffs over the impatience, while Brian can't believe he forgot that part. 

For Brian, the kiss brings back the memory of their first time together not so long ago. The Montreal stop was just another city, just another show. The only thing that was supposed to be special about it was the cameras. Instead, Montreal turned out to be a revelation, the founding of a romance with John that Brian plans to make last for the rest of their lives. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some last-minute shenanigans as the band's late-night adventure in NYC comes to a close.

The four drag their feet from the lack of sleep as they make their way back to the bus stop. They're tired but happy, the bandmates simply letting everything that's happened over the last few hours do its magic in further knitting them together as bandmates and friends — as family. 

Roger's a bit slower than the rest, in a drowse and eyes half-closed. A strangely bright light manages to slip past his eyelids though, and he looks toward the source. 

In front of a home and garden store are floodlights at the base of pedestals illuminating two terribly painted stone gnomes stood atop fake plastic grass.

He's struck by the most brilliant idea.

"Freddie!"

The man stops his walk and turns around. "What is it?" 

"Look at them!" 

Freddie backtracks to get a closer look at whatever Roger is waving at. 

"Why are you excited about ugly gnomes?" 

"They're perrrfect," Roger moans in elation. 

Freddie cringes. "Eww, darling, what is wrong with you? They're hideous." 

"I know! And if they're hideous here amid the madness and randomness of New York City, imagine how absolutely ghastly they'll be at the front gates of my house." 

Freddie finally sees the light, so to speak. "You're right! The councillors are going to absolutely shit themselves." 

Roger's practically bouncing with excitement. 

"But how are we getting them? The store's closed." 

"Well, I can carry one and you can carry the other ..." 

"You want to steal them," Freddie says flatly. It's not a question. 

"They've got dozens more in the store," Roger points out the creepy gnome army on shelves staring at them through the window. 

"Hey, fellas," John calls out, "the bus is coming. We gotta get going." 

Roger looks at Freddie with big, pleading eyes. 

"They're going to be heavy!" Freddie takes hold of one to prove his point. 

He easily lifts it. 

"What th-, it's not even stone," Freddie's outraged. "It's that imitation shit!" 

"Guys!" Brian calls out. "Bus, now!" 

Roger and Freddie lock eyes and share twin wicked, toothy smiles. Freddie holds the gnome he grabbed more securely while Roger grabs the other one off its tacky perch. 

They dash after the bus, laughing maniacally the whole way. 

|| 

By the time they return to the bus stop near their hotel, daylight takes hold quickly. It's like a switch to New York City was turned on, all the cars and people seemingly just popping into existence. 

As they turn a corner, a familiar tune reaches their ears. 

_Steve walks_ _warily down the street_   
_With the brim pulled way down low..._

They find a couple of teenagers blasting "Another One Bites the Dust" from a boombox and breakdancing to it. 

_... And another one gone, and another one gone_   
_Another one bites the dust_   
_Hey, I'm gonna get you, too_   
_Another one bites the dust ..._

When the song finishes, the bandmates join the bystanders in applauding the dancers. 

"Yo, man, that song is _bad_!" one of the dancers exclaims. 

"I know! So fucking _bad_!" the other dancer agrees. "I gotta stop and move to it every time it's on the radio." 

Roger scratches his head, confused. He leans close to John. "I thought they liked it. Why are they saying it's bad?" 

John shakes his head. "Bad means good." 

"What? Since when?" 

"1980," John simply answers. 

Roger scrunches his face in disgust. "Fuck, I'm getting old." 

"You know who it's from?" the one dancer asks. 

"Nah, man. The deejay never says." 

"It's Queen," John speaks up in answer. 

The boys look at them in surprise. John smiles kindly to ease any awkwardness at his interruption. 

"Queen?" 

All four of the bandmates nod in confirmation. 

"Shit, I gotta go get their album. Thanks, man!" 

The boys leave, boombox cranked to maximum volume, dancing while they walk to whatever is playing on the radio. 

Freddie squeezes John's shoulder. "Thank you, Deacy." 

"For what?" 

"It's because of you that someone now might actually recognize us in this city." 

John huffs. "Yes, perhaps there's hope yet for our little band." He looks at his bandmates. "Was a good night, yeah?" 

They all nod in agreement, of course. Brian gives him a serene smile. 

"But I'm about to curl up in that street corner and use this stupid gnome as a pillow if we don't get going," Roger says. 

Brian snorts. "I'll take that other gnome from Freddie and join you, Rog." 

Freddie hugs the gnome tighter to his chest. "You can't have, Petunia." 

Brian rolls his eyes. "Of course, you named it." 

"Well, since I can't risk having my new partner collapsing to the street — Rog, I could take or leave you — we should finally pack up and go home." John hooks his fingers around Brian's ringed hand and tugs him along toward their hotel entrance. Roger and Freddie walk closely with them, the four forming a tightly bonded unit. 

Freddie looks upward before he enters the building to whisper sweetly into the wind. "Au revoir, New York." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was truly the ending until I started writing a smutty epilogue with Brian revealing his new lingerie to John.
> 
> So, one more chapter to go :)


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian reveals to John the lingerie piece he got in New York. But that's not the only surprise he has for his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating applies to this chapter. Seriously.

Brian finds John sitting on the couch reading the Daily Mirror as he steps out of the bedroom. He has an amused expression that turns into a soft smile when he notices Brian.

“What could you find so entertaining in that thing?” Brian asks as he goes to pour them glasses of champagne. The tray next to the chilled bottle is still covered per Brian’s explicit instructions to John not to touch. It’s been a couple days since they returned to London, and the newly committed couple were too jetlagged and out of sorts to continue their Valentine’s Day until tonight.

“Oh, there’s some actual news today,” John says as he trades Brian the paper for the champagne glass. 

Brian’s eyes immediately zoom in on a small photo of a familiar blond. “ _Rock Star Calls in the Gnome Squad!_ ” he reads the headline. 

John’s already chuckling. “Read the whole thing out loud. It’s ridiculous.”

Brian clears his throat and begins: 

> Rock star Roger Taylor got revenge on killjoy local councillors — by calling in the gnome guard!

> The drummer with supergroup Queen was fuming after being refused permission to plonk a pair of stone lions on the gateposts outside his country mansion. 

> On Thursday, when local parish council chairman Major Brian Camp saw the brightly lit, red-capped gnomes standing proudly, he approached the entrance and demanded an audience with Taylor. He was surprised to be met at the door by not only the drummer but also the lead singer of Queen, Freddie Mercury.

> According to Camp, he calmly and rationally urged Taylor to remove the “blights to good taste and human decency.” He questioned the legitimacy of Taylor’s desire for the gnomes, and Taylor admitted to disliking them.

> “I tried to reason with him!” Camp insists. “He said it was my fault for being an arsehole and denying the lions he originally wanted. This is a quiet, old-fashioned village, not an amusement park or casino in Las Vegas!”

> When Camp said he would be forced to remove the gnomes himself, lead singer Mercury involved himself in the discussion.

> “He said, ‘Touch Petunia and Juniper, and I’ll add another stick up your already crowded arse.’ The absolute gall!” 

> As Camp tried to again plead his case, Taylor and Mercury ended his spluttering by grabbing each of his arms and forcibly removing him from the property. 

> The Mirror reached out to Taylor to get his side of the story and was told to “f*ck off.” 

> Camp has since filed a complaint with the planning authority at Thursley, near Hindhead, Surrey. 

Brian’s in stitches by the end of the article. “Oh, my God! They’re absolute brats!” 

“It’s clever, yeah?!” John wheezes. 

“Children, our bandmates are complete children.” 

John settles down and takes the paper from Brian and hands him the other champagne glass. “A toast to our spiteful, wonderfully indignant, righteous mates.” 

Brian chuckles and clinks his glass to John’s. “As much as I love Rog and Fred, I thought we would be toasting us tonight.” 

“Of course,” John agrees. “A toast to us: To making incredible music together in the studio, onstage, and in our lives together. Forever.” 

“Cheers,” Brian says with a grin and takes a sip. “That was terribly cheesy, however,” he teases. 

John shrugs and drinks from his glass as well. “I was too distracted to come up with a more creative toast.” 

“And what has you so distracted?” 

John dares to slip a finger under the material of Brian’s dressing gown. “I have been not-so-patiently waiting to see what you would be wearing tonight for our belated Valentine’s Day.” 

“Ah, poor dear,” Brian says mockingly. “I’ve left you in the dark for an excruciating day and a half. How cruel of me.” 

“Brian, seriously, I’m _aching_ to see what you’re wearing right now. I might die.”

Brian snorts, “Can’t have that.” He drinks the rest of his glass and sets it to the side. John follows his lead, seeing it as a signal that he’s finally getting what he wants. 

Brian slides from his seat to stand tall above John, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes peer down at him. It’s intimidating, the heated gaze almost frightening with its intensity. 

Luckily, Brian doesn’t frighten him at all. John welcomes anything and everything this challenging, passionate, caring man is willing to share with him. 

Especially the man’s surprisingly naughty side, something John’s quite smug about being one of the few to experience. Brian unties the sash holding his dressing gown and without further ado lets the garment fall off his body to the floor.

It’s the burgundy teddy. 

John’s jaw drops. “You got it?” he asks in awe. 

Brian smirks. “It grew on me. After everyone got their laughs in, I took one more look at it, and it’s honestly beautifully designed.” He twirls some for John, and the loose lace trimmings at the hips and shoulders lightly flutter. Despite the teddy’s clingy mesh, the lace treatments add a surprising amount of modesty, covering his bum and chest slightly. “Does this fulfill your fantasy?” 

John nods slowly, “You’re a dream, Brian.” 

Brian flushes at the simple praise. 

“Can I?” John starts to ask and raises his hand to finish the question. 

Brian moves closer to the waiting hand. John immediately runs it reverently up Brian’s torso, feeling every mesh- and lace-covered rib. He stands as he climbs higher up Brian’s body and slips one hand around his hip to lightly play with the fringe. The other hand stays pressed to Brian’s chest, playing with the trim and slipping his fingers underneath to pull and snap the material back in place. 

Brian revels in his partner’s touches. Despite the sexual charge he’s feeling, the moment is peaceful and achingly tender. One of John’s roaming hands glides over his cock, and he shudders from the gentle drag of the material. “John,” he moans. 

John finally kisses him to swallow the moans. “So pretty, Brian,” he murmurs. He simply runs his hand up and down until he can feel the fully hard length. When he tries to slip his hand behind the material, Brian grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“Hmm, John, not yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“I have a Valentine’s fantasy of my own that I’d like you to fulfill.” 

John raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Uh-huh,” Brian nods and pulls away to retrieve the covered platter that John had completely forgotten about. Brian lifts it to reveal chocolate-covered strawberries. 

John looks at them openly perplexed but reaches for one. His hand is quickly swatted away. 

“They’re all mine until I’ve gotten my fill,” Brian says. He picks up one and bites it in half, making sure to lick any juice that might have tried to escape his lips. 

“You want me to watch you eat them?” John guesses. 

“Sort of,” Brian says after he finishes the berry. He moves to sit back on the couch and lays the tray next to him. John audibly gasps when Brian unceremoniously moves the lace and mesh away from his cock to pull it free. “I want your mouth busy on me while mine is occupied with eating these berries.” 

John secretly pinches himself to prove this isn’t a dream. “You’re serious?” 

Brian picks up another strawberry while never breaking eye contact with John. He strokes his cock as he bites into the fruit, unnecessarily licking his fingers as he eats the rest. 

“You sure you won’t choke from the distraction?” John asks. 

Brian smirks wickedly. “We’ll see who chokes first.” 

John practically dives to the floor and crawls to Brian’s lap after hearing that. He lets himself look once more with fire and adoration at the seductive picture Brian makes before he focuses on the lovely long cock. John takes notice of how the area has been shaved and trimmed, and he licks his lips reflexively. 

Brian has a strawberry held in anticipation, and as John takes his first long, wet swipe toward the head, he moans as he simultaneously bites into the fruit, reveling in the combination of the taste in his mouth and the feeling on his cock. He does his best to carefully chew and swallow, but John’s already sucking on the tip, clearly wanting to be proven right about how difficult eating and receiving head would be. 

With every drag of his lips, John takes more and more of Brian in. He tries to keep his gaze upward to watch Brian enjoy all the sensations. Brian’s mouth hangs open more often than not, his lips made impossibly red and glistening from the strawberries. The hedonism of the moment has John more excited than he can ever remember being. He prides himself on his control, but John doesn’t trust his hands anywhere near his own cock or he’ll come instantly. Instead, he brings both hands up to return to feeling and clinging the material of the teddy once more. 

Meanwhile, Brian’s fruitless hand finds a home on John’s head, taking control of the bobbing motion. “Oh, God, Deacy, you’re so good,” Brian practically whines. By now, he’s done grabbing any more berries, too wrapped up in the building orgasm. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy by sucking on his fingers, mimicking John. 

The sight has John moaning constantly around Brian’s cock. He needs to make Brian come now, needs to prep him quickly and fuck him into next week. He snakes a hand between Brian’s legs to reach his entrance, to get a head start in teasing and loosening the ring of muscle while tipping Brian over the edge. 

Something blocks his finger though.

The surprise breaks his rhythm for a second and causes him to gag a bit, enough for Brian to check on him and figure out what’s the matter. He removes his fingers from his mouth and pants, “Finally noticed the other novelty I’m wearing, huh?” 

John pulls off his cock and takes a few quick breaths. “It’s a plug?” he gasps. 

Brian nods. “Picked it up along with the teddy. Can’t go to _Ye Olde Sex Shoppe_ and not buy a toy.” 

John’s at a loss for words. His hand’s still hidden underneath Brian, and his fingers explore the protruding piece, tracing the rim. 

Brian patiently indulges John’s curious fingers and uses the breather as an opportunity to eat another strawberry. John then wiggles the plug, catching Brian off guard and making him gasp with his mouth full. John smirks at the reaction, takes a deep breath and gets back to work. 

Brian’s immediately moaning once more. John’s not holding anything back and dives as deeply as possible with every bob of his head while pressing the plug relentlessly. 

“John, I’m com-,” he cuts himself off to let out the highest pitch squeal John’s ever heard from Brian. 

John pulls up to catch all of Brian’s release, hollowing his cheeks to prolong the orgasm as long as possible. 

With a trembling hand, Brian brushes through John’s hair and tugs lightly to get him to stop. He leans down to give an open-mouthed, filthy kiss. He sweetens the taste of himself in John’s mouth with the remnants of the natural sugars and chocolate left on his tongue. 

John sweeps his tongue over Brian’s tongue and teeth, devours his berry-red lips. “Delicious, Brian,” he murmurs.

Brian breathes heavily, still high and dazed from his orgasm, and simply lets John do most of the work, letting him get his fill of tasting Brian in practically every way possible. 

“Are you good? Can I see, uh-,” John cuts himself off from asking for too much too soon.

Brian gives his partner a fond smile and a peck to his hard-working lips before he turns to lie on his stomach, answering the unspoken question. 

John stands up, wincing from the stretch after being on his knees so long. He’s wearing his nicest pajama set tonight, but he’s beyond ready to remove them to feel Brian’s lace-clad body pressed to his bare skin.

Brian’s head lays on the armrest, turned to keenly watch the short strip show. His eyes widen in surprise when John takes off the bottoms. “Oh my, Mr. Deacon, are those bikini briefs?” 

“Uh,” John blushes, “that they are. Satin material.” 

“You took Rog’s advice?” 

“Well, you seemed to like the idea, so,” John trails off and does a little spin to give Brian the full view, returning the favor for the lingerie twirl. 

Brian’s smile is wide and toothy. “You look nice, love. You look ready to fall out of them though. Excited, are we?” He pointedly looks at John’s straining cock, which yes, is barely being contained by the small material. 

John groans from the reminder of how hard he is. “Always eager for you. Don’t tease.” 

“I’m not,” Brian lies because of course he’s teasing, enjoying the effect he has on the man. “Get over here already. Won’t need much prep with this little thing in me.” 

John does as told and brackets Brian’s body with his thighs. He bends to get close to Brian’s ass and sweeps the lace fringe away to reveal the flared end of the plug peeking between slightly parted cheeks. John can’t help giving another groan at the sight. Brian chuckles softly over his distress. 

The chuckles turn to groans too as John swipes his tongue down the rift of his ass and teases the complete circumference of the straining ring of muscle. Brian starts to tremble as John does it again and again and again. He whines and whimpers John’s name into the armrest. “John, J-, Deacy, yes, oh, please.”

John’s patience has run out. “Brian, I’m going to remove the plug, okay?” 

“Do it, yeah,” Brian consents, dark curls bouncing with the shaking of his head. 

John securely grips the flared end and slowly slides the plug out, watching in wonder as the wide, oblong object is freed. The plug definitely did its job, Brian’s hole is gaping and reflexively twitching. John sets the plug down on the side table and grabs the lube to slick a couple of fingers to gently probe the entrance. They easily slip through.

Brian whimpers some more at the feeling of being so open and easily explored. 

“How do you feel, B? Is two okay? Can I go ahead and use three?” 

“You can go ahead and use your cock,” Brian smartly replies. 

John huffs, “You sure?” 

Brian looks over his shoulder. “I need you, John.” 

With that simple plea, John rushes to comply, his cock so hard it could probably punch through a wall. He pulls down the bikini briefs around his hips, strips on the condom in record time, and carelessly drizzles lube over it. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me, honey,” John requests, wiping his hand on his pajama shirt so he can use both hands to grip Brian’s hips and guide him up. John moves the thong of the teddy to the side and glides his cock in easily.

The sigh Brian releases is one of utter relief. John fits so well inside him, his sappy brain always notes. It’s a sign of how right they are for each other. 

Despite the lack of resistance, John still starts fucking Brian slowly, not wanting to get overly confident and careless. He distracts himself with the teddy again, running his hands over Brian’s mesh-covered back, the material wet from sweat. 

Brian looks back over his shoulder with glassy eyes, wanting to see John’s movements. The sight of the cock disappearing into him sends shivers down his spine. He wildly reaches back for John’s hand, the one wearing his ring, and laces their fingers together while still maintaining the grip on his hip. The gesture offers reassurance to John that he can go faster, be more forceful.

They keep to a solid rhythm for a few minutes, nothing spoken, just their grunts and the sounds of their skin connecting.

John can feel his balls tightening, his need to come too powerful to resist. He moves the hand not holding Brian’s hand to wind around his torso. “Get up for me, B. I got you,” he urges. 

Brian moves the hand that was anchoring him to the armrest up to the back of the couch and lets himself be held up. The moment he’s more upright, the angle of John’s thrust changes and Brian lets out a surprised scream.

“There we are,” John breathlessly says in triumph over nailing Brian’s prostate. “Think you can come again, sweetheart? Ruin this pretty garment.”

“Yes, please, John,” Brian whines, “I want to.” 

“Let yourself go, let me do the work.” John picks up the pace, the new angle squeezing his cock even more and making him frantic in the need to come and take Brian over with him. He brings their interlaced hands to Brian’s cock and work him together. It’s not very much longer when Brian screams from release, his come painting the lace and mesh on his stomach. John’s only slightly disappointed in himself that he’s too overwhelmed to pull out to do the same with Brian’s backside. With one final, deep thrust, John lets himself go with blinding intensity, spilling into the condom.

They simultaneously collapse to the cushions. 

After a minute of nothing but heavy breathing, Brian feels John’s arm leave his side to grope at the table. He looks to see John grab a chocolate-covered strawberry and shove the whole thing in his mouth, open-mouthed chewing because he’s still breathing hard with recovery. 

“Oh, these are good,” John remarks. 

Brian snorts. “Did I say you could have one?” 

“I fucking earned it!” 

“I suppose you did,” Brian concedes. “Quite literally.” 

Brian hears a soft chuckle in response, then he winces as John reaches down to pull out and dispose of the condom.

John hovers above Brian and encourages him to turn over onto his back. He’s grinning wide, crinkle-eyed and openly happy. “Good Valentine’s Day, Brian?” 

Brian brings a hand up to his partner’s face to fondly stroke the fine lines around his eyes, the subtle signs of aging that first captured Brian’s attention in Montreal. It’s remarkable to see how that little spark of attraction led to where they are now — partners destined to spend the rest of their lives with each other.

He smiles softly at John. “The best Valentine’s Day ever, Deacy. Absolutely the best.”

-end-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real story of [Roger's gnomes](https://brianmay.com/roger/press/gnome.html), from which I borrowed some quotes.
> 
> And another Breaky fic bites the dust ;) I hope it was a good diversion. Thanks for reading and take care.


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